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The ship wasn’t designed for comfort.
It was a long, skeletal thing — cold metal corridors twisting through the void of space like veins through a corpse. Every hallway hummed with recycled air and the quiet buzz of ancient fluorescent lights. The walls were scuffed where boots had kicked, scratched where panic had clawed, and stained where something worse had happened. Outside, there was only black, a never-ending void of stars.
Inside, there was suspicion.
Every room had a purpose, yet every purpose was life or death.
Reactor. Electrical. MedBay. Navigation. Storage. Weapons. O2. Admin. Each sector was stitched together with winding corridors and heavy, pressure-sealed doors. Every door might open to a friend or a corpse. Maybe even a wedged open vent disguised in the corner. Or maybe even worse, nothing at all.
The tasks weren’t glamorous, but they were necessary — if they wanted to survive long enough to reach some form of Earth.
Wires were just frayed and tangled behind old metal panels needed fixing constantly. Color coded, but never easy. If even one connection failed, the lights went out. The doors locked. The alarms screamed and screamed.
Oxygen filters clogged with ice crystals had to be replaced manually. No oxygen? No one is breathing. Simple.
Trash compactors jammed. They needed to be cleared by hand. If waste piled up, the ship would flood with toxic air. Again, simple. No clean air? No breathing.
Fuel lines needed to be refilled. Top to bottom, from the Engine Room to the Lower Deck. Heavy canisters hauled down ladders, sloshing dangerously.
Data uploads crawled across outdated terminals, painfully slow. Standing still made you a target. But the systems were too old, too fragile, too important not to finish the upload.
Navigation required constant course corrections. One wrong input and they'd drift forever.
Weapons systems ran simulations for asteroids, space pirates, and even things with too many teeth.
Vitals monitors blinked quietly in MedBay. Tracking heartbeats. Watching the crew shrink, one by one. Every task ticked down the clock until the ship could land safely. But with a killer among them, the tasks weren’t just about survival anymore. They were about trust. About staying alive long enough to finish.
And trust was running out faster than oxygen.
2 hours earlier
The lights overhead flickered once, then settled into a harsh, sterile glow. Everyone stood in a messy, uneven circle around the emergency table. Nobody sat. Nobody wanted to look weak. Not right now.
“I DIDN’T DO IT!” Tommy’s voice cut sharp across the room, loud enough to make Niki flinch with anger and irritation. His fists were clenched, face red with frustration.
“I DIDN’T EVEN SEE PHIL, I SWEAR!”
“You never see anyone, Tommy,” Niki shot back, arms folded. Cold. Clinical.
“That’s suspicious. I mean, admit it.” Jack Manifold chimed in, nodding too eagerly, like a sidekick who didn’t know when to shut up. “You’re always running off. Reckless. Loud. Always ‘just missed it.’ Always ‘wasn’t me.’" He scoffed,
Wilbur leaned into the table. “Back off.” His voice cut quieter than Tommy’s, but sharper. Scoffing, “He’s a kid. He’s not killing anyone.”
Across the table, George crossed his arms slowly. Calm. Too calm. His gaze flicked sideways at Dream, then back. “We don’t know that, Wilbur,” George said, voice light but firm. “Anyone can kill.”
“Yeah, but even Dream said he didn’t see Tommy do anything.” Sapnap’s words hung there like a smokescreen, not too quick to defend. His eyes darted between Dream and the others.
Dream didn’t even blink. Didn’t move. Just leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing that same unreadable expression.
“I didn’t,” he said simply. “I’ve been with Sapnap and George the whole time.”
“Yeah, well, isn’t that convenient?!” Tommy snapped quietly, pointing his gaze across the table like he alone could eject them into space. “You three always together. Dream team, huh? Never splitting up, always watching each other’s backs.”
“Because we trust each other,” George said smoothly, not missing a beat. His tone was just friendly enough to make Tommy’s skin crawl.
“Trust is dangerous right now,” Niki said, glancing at Jack. Tubbo spoke up at last, quiet, awkward, like he hated being noticed.
“Tommy’s telling the truth.”, a new voice chimed.
“Oh, what a suprise.” Jack barked a laugh and spat, “Tubbo is defending Tommy again, never seen that one coming?”
Tubbo and Tommy stayed quiet.
“At least they’re loyal,” Quackity threw in. Rolling his eyes, “Believe it or not, loyalty’s rare around here.”
“You talkin’ about me?” Schlatt leaned against the table with a smirk, heavy and smug. “Always flattering.”
“I’d rather eject myself than flatter you,” Quackity shot back, sharp as broken glass.
"You are flatter than me-",
“Jesus.” Wilbur’s voice snapped through the noise, cold steel beneath polite words. “Focus. Someone killed Phil. That’s what matters.”
George’s fingers drummed casually on the table. His eyes never left Dream. “It wasn’t us.”
“Yeah, we’ve been accounted for,” Sapnap said, too fast, too clean. “Right, Dream?”
“Of course.” Dream’s smile was small. Too small. Wilbur squinted at him.
“You've been awfully quiet, Dream.” Dream’s shrug was almost lazy.
“I don’t need to shout to be right.”
“That’s exactly what a murderer would say.” Tommy practically spat the words, voice cracking.
“Okay, okay,” Tubbo waved his hands. “Can we not accuse each other for five seconds?”
Scoffs and annoyed mumbles echoed from almost everyone around the room.
“Let me guess you’re gonna hold hands and sing kumbaya next?” Schlatt sneered. “Pathetic.”
“Better than kissing Schlatt’s ass every five seconds like YOU do,” Quackity scoffed back. Schlatt just laughed.
“Big Q, admit it. You’re obsessed with me.”
“In your dreams.”
Wilbur groaned loudly. Moving on. "Fact is. Phil’s dead. One of you killed him.” His glare swept the room, daring anyone to speak. “And the longer we stand here yelling, the more time the killer gets.”
“I know who I’m voting next,” Niki said under her breath.
“Then you’re voting wrong.” Tommy’s voice broke again, cracking under the weight of suspicion.
And just at that, the somewhat organized conversation broke out into almost everyone yelling and accusing over each other. Fingers being pointed, words being spit. It was honestly childish. Across the table, George leaned closer to Sapnap. “They’re losing it.” He said in a sing-song tone. Sapnap’s response was too quick, too clipped.
“Good. Makes our job easier.” Dream just watched. Silent. Smiling. Watching everyone break themselves apart, piece by piece. The emergency buzzer cut through the tension. No ejection. No answers. The room emptied in splintered pairs. Trust frayed thin. Paranoia thick as fog.
The ship hummed beneath Niki’s boots, every step vibrating up through her spine like some dead thing breathing beneath the metal floor. Her washed out pink hair tied loosely in a messy bun. The lights overhead flickered with that sickly yellow that made her feel half underwater, half buried alive. Storage was empty except for Jack Manifold, arms crossed, glaring at the task list pinned to the wall as if it had personally wronged him.
“Come on,” Niki said, low under her breath. “Let’s just find proof already.”
Jack followed, his mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace. “Proof of what? Tommy being an absolute imbecile? Everyone knows that already.”
Niki’s jaw tightened. “Proof that he’s lying. Or hiding something.”
They moved fast, not because they wanted to but because moving slowly meant you might end up alone. Alone meant dead. Alone meant the vents hissed open behind you and—
Don’t think about it. Keep walking.
Electrical was a graveyard of wires and blinking panels, Niki made sure to double check each task she finished, fingers moving fast, deliberate. Swipe card. Align engine output. Divert power. The rhythms of survival.
Jack hovered near the doorway, eyes flicking over his shoulder like something might crawl out of the darkness any second. “What’s your obsession with Tommy, anyway?”
“I don’t trust him.” Niki kept her voice even. “Wilbur does. That’s dangerous.”
Jack laughed, short and bitter. “Wilbur’s dangerous. Tommy’s just loud.”
“Loud people cause distractions. Distracted people die.”
It wasn’t personal. Not really. But Niki knew the numbers. Knew the way people got careless when they thought someone else would watch their back. Knew that alliances broke under pressure. Knew that somewhere on this ship, someone wasn’t doing tasks. Someone was cutting wires that didn’t need cutting. Someone was waiting for the lights to go out.
“I think it’s Schlatt,” Jack muttered. “He’s got that look.”
“I think Schlatt’s too lazy to plan a murder. Dream’s the one watching.”
Jack scoffed. “Dream’s always watching. That doesn’t mean he’s the killer.”
But it didn’t mean he wasn’t. Not when George and Sapnap circled him like dogs on a leash. Not when they always seemed to have the perfect alibi ready. Not when Dream smiled like he already knew who was next.
Niki rolled her eyes and checked her map. “We need to find others because f we’re outnumbered, we’re next.”
“Fine.” Jack sighed, shoulders slumping. “lets move.”
They stepped out into the hall together. The lights flickered again. Something rattled in the vents. And somewhere far ahead, a door hissed closed like teeth snapping shut
Tommy’s fingers were shaking when he finished fixing the wires in Electrical. For all his big talk, Tommy was still only sixteen. Plus, its not like he wanted to die on a ship in space surrounded by assholes. Yellow to yellow. Red to red. Blue to blue. Simple and easy but his hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and he hated that, hated how small he felt on this massive, empty ship full of forced smiles and cold corridors.
Tubbo hovered just behind him, quiet as always. Too quiet.
“Right,” Tommy said, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide the shaking. He took a breath in, “That’s that done. What’s next?”
Tubbo smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Up to youTommy. I’m just sticking close,” he said, casually.
“Why aren’t you doing tasks, then?” Tommy said it, light, just a joke. “Bit suspicious, isn’t it?”
Tubbo froze for a second. Just a second-
Tubbo laughed. “Didn’t wanna leave you alone.”
“You’re weird, Tubbo.” Tommy tried to grin, tried to keep things normal. “Like, this is why im your only friend.”, Tubbo rolled his eyes
“I could say the same about you.” Tubbo nudged his shoulder. “Look, it’s fine. I’ll go do something now if it makes you less nervous.”
“Yeah, maybe. Just—don’t get killed, alright?”
“Tsk, can’t promise that,” Tubbo said, already turning away. “But I’ll try.”
The words settled wrong. Too rehearsed. Too perfect, but it was Tubbo. His best friend. His only friend, maybe. He couldn’t afford to doubt him.
“Fine,” Tommy said. “Go on, then. I’ll catch up. Gotta download data in Admin.”
Tubbo nodded, peeling off down the corridor with a wave. Tommy watched him go. The hall swallowed him quickly, lights flickering like breath held too long.
Tommy turned toward Admin. Passed Storage. Heard something clang behind him. Didn’t look, just sped up.
Wilbur found him leaning over the download terminal, jaw tight with concentration.
“You alright?” Wilbur asked,careful.
“No,” Tommy snapped. “Obviously not, people are dropping like flies and everyone thinks it’s me.”
“It’s not you,” Wilbur said, like he could make it true just by saying it.
“I know that. But they don’t. Niki’s got it in for me. Jack too.” he huffed.
“They’re wrong. It’s Schlatt. Or Dream. Maybe both.”
Tommy hesitated. “You’re sure?”
Wilbur’s smile was sharp. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”
“Yes, Wilbur. Loads of times. Loads.”
Wilbur gave a soft laugh. “Alright, alright. But not this time. This time I know I’m right.”
“You trust Dream?” Wilbur pressed.
“No.”
“Then it’s him.”
“That’s not how logic works, Wilbur.”
“Isn’t it?”
Tommy looked at the task list. Almost done. Almost free. Almost safe.
But something itched under his skin, behind his ribs where breathing hurt. Something about the way Tubbo had smiled. About the way Wilbur was pushing. About the way Dream hadn’t needed to say anything at all.
“It’s not Tubbo,” Tommy said, mostly to himself.
“No, of course not,” Wilbur said, too quickly.
Tommy wasn’t so sure anymore.
“You’ve got my back, right?” Tommy asked, quieter now.
“Always,” Wilbur said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s what older brothers are for.”
Quackity slammed the panel in O2 shut with more force than necessary. The warning light blinked green. Fixed. For now.
“You did it,” Schlatt said from the doorway, smirking like he’d been waiting to be impressed.
“No thanks to you,” Quackity snapped. “You’ve been following me like a creep for the last ten minutes, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Schlatt laughed, leaning lazy against the doorframe. “You think I’m stalking you, Big Q? Cute.”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“Obviously.”
They argued bickered like it was habit. Like it was safer than silence, like it filled the space where suspicion lived.
Then the alarms blared. Oxygen failure. Sabotage. Red lights flashing like blood vessels bursting behind his eyes.
“Real subtle, Wilbur,” Quackity muttered, already moving. Schlatt followed, slower, laughing under his breath.
They ran. Fixed it. Hands moving fast over controls that felt too big, too old, too alien. Oxygen levels normalized. Lights steady. Heartbeats not.
Turned a corner. Storage.
Philza’s body lay sprawled on the floor, cold and still, his helmet cracked where his head had hit the wall. Blood seeping out of a deep wound in his chest.
Schlatt grinned. “Told you it wasn’t me.”
Yet, somewhere nearby, unseen, Tubbo’s hand hovered near the edge of a vent, fingertips trailing across the metal like he was weighing something in his head. His footsteps never faded down the hall where the lights above flickered once, twice, and steadied, but the sound of footprints wasn't completely lost, echoing across tight, metal compartments under the ship. His smile lingered in the empty air long after he was gone.